Chapter 31: Chapter 31

S Ø R E N

THE LIFE EXPECTANCY for the average celebrity musician was not very high. It was too bad then that Melchior was already technically dead, because Søren could have sorted it out for him if he had still been alive, with no hesitation. When they had first met, the Trainer had been rather impressed by Melchior’s life before he Turned. He had been a rock band lead singer and a model, having died from a drug overdose at one of his tour parties. A tragic story; but he had assured Søren that he regretted none of it.

Maybe that was part of the reason why the older Reaper resented him. He had not died thinking about the people he left behind.

“…I still can’t believe that Søren sent for you to bring me back here,” Melchior’s voice suddenly said from the other side of the door, making Søren jump. “That’s not exactly like him.”

Damn right it is not.

“Trust me,” Savannah said sweetly. “He can’t wait to talk to you.”

Anyone who knew Søren would know that statement was a complete lie. Which meant that Melchior should not be fooled. The Trainer sighed and turned his back to the door, just before he heard it open.

“Søren,” Savannah said loudly. “Play nice.”

He refrained from saying anything back, and only clicked his tongue. He was above dignifying that statement with a response.

The redhead sighed and turned to leave. “Can you at least try?” she asked, before walking out and closing the door.

Søren glared at Melchior as he just stood there. The blond shrugged, rocking back and forth on his heels. It was as though now that he was there, he had no idea what to say to him. And there was no time for such hesitancy.

“…I’m out of here,” the Trainer sighed and got up, heading for the door.

He gripped the handle and pulled —but the door did not budge. He pulled on it harder, but it remained shut. It was locked. Savannah had locked them in. Søren then recalled her words from before.

“Someone should lock the two of you in a room.

Maybe then you’d learn to get along.”

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” he murmured, banging his fist feebly against the door. “That scheming little —I can’t believe she locked us in.”

“What? We’re locked in?” Melchior said in surprise, before going over. He struggled with the door as well.

“Perfect,” Søren huffed, folding his arms. “Now I can’t escape.”

“Does this mean…that we have to talk after all?” Melchior asked.

“Like hell it does,” Søren grumbled. “I will still refuse to talk to you even though we’re locked in the same room.”

“Then just listen to me,” Melchior suggested. “You don’t have to talk back…Just hear me out. Please.”

The Trainer glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. The blond might as well go ahead —he obviously loved the sound of his own voice. But he should be prepared for his words to fall on deaf ears.

“I was thinking about you before I came downstairs,” he started. Søren tensed in response. “I had been hung up on what you said to me in the elevator last time. I guess I had deserved it. That was kind of why I wanted to talk to you. But seeing you with that girl —”

“Savannah,” Søren corrected him. “Her name is Savannah.”

“Well, she didn’t sound very willing to tell me that the last time that we interacted,” Melchior justified.

Søren scoffed. Obviously she had not wanted him to know.

“…Anyway,” he continued. I was curious about your relationship with her.”

The Trainer’s fingers curled tighter around the wooden edge of the desk as he thought of how to respond, and he was sure that Melchior noticed.

“…You told me that you don’t have any interest in your trainees. But then you two just disappear. What am I supposed to think?” the blond sighed, shooting Søren a look.

The dark haired Reaper frowned in offence. “What, do you seriously think we ran away together or something?” he snorted. “Come on. We were arrested and taken to Purgatory to see the Boss.”

“No, you come on, Søren,” Melchior said firmly. “Arrested? That’s not like you.” He then snarled. “…What did she do?”

Søren looked at him and furrowed his eyebrows. His behaviour —his concern; it made the Trainer jump to one conclusion.

“Are you jealous?” he asked bluntly.

Melchior glanced away for a moment, not wanting to confess to anything. “You seem…close,” he said instead. “Are you friends? Or something more?”

“It’s none of your business,” Søren informed him.

“It’s just a simple answer.”

“That you won’t get the satisfaction of hearing.”

Melchior growled and then fell into a pace, muttering under his breath. Søren knew that the beast within the blond was awakening and prowling, ready to sink its claws into him. Søren watched him walk back and forth for a moment before he sighed, relenting. It was not worth aggravating him that much.

“…We saw something,” Søren murmured. “Something in Purgatory. Something new —and terrifying. It was another Titan; a blue one. We think…the Organisation might be in trouble again.”

“Is that really why you’re so on edge?” Melchior said with concern.

Søren did not respond.

“…So, this Titan,” the younger Reaper said, clearing his throat. “Is the reason you kicked me out and wouldn’t thank me?”

“You know bloody well why I kicked you out,” Søren grunted. “And when would I ever thank you?”

“Gods, you’re so stubborn,” Melchior muttered.

Søren pressed his lips into a line and remained cold.

“Look Søren, besides being an asshole, you haven’t really been yourself lately. You didn’t even shout at me earlier. I know when you are stressed out —you go quiet. It’s dangerous. I just want to know how you’re…coping.”

Søren looked up at him slowly with an expression that was a mixture of anger and disbelief. He did not say anything. He did not think that he could. The concern…it felt too foreign to hear that coming from him. So, Søren did something familiar. He raised his middle finger at him.

“Ugh, why won’t you just tell me?” Melchior groaned.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Søren murmured. “We’re not friends.”

Melchior raised his eyebrows at that, but then nodded slowly. “You are right. We’re not friends. We’re just people who used to know each other, deeply. And…I promised you that I would care about you no matter what happened to us, so let me honour that. You look stressed, Søren, and I don’t think it’s because of this new Titan.”

The Trainer breathed out harshly through his nose. He did not want to tell him anything. He did not want to do something that showed some level of closeness to another person. Because the two were no longer close.

“Please. Let me help.”

Help? Søren thought. Melchior wanted to help?

“We’re just friends!” he suddenly snapped.

Melchior just stared in what appeared to be surprise. For some reason, it made Søren angrier, and he ground his teeth together. “Christ. Nothing happened between us. Because I can’t let go of the past; I keep holding onto things and…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Melchior blinked and averted his gaze. “Søren —”

“I’m confused. I was thinking about…someone else from my past. This girl I was in love with a long time ago.”

Having told Savannah, Søren was now riding on the coattails of the courage he had had in order to finally tell Melchior about it. His expression turned sceptical.

“Who? You’ve never mentioned anyone before me.”

“There were others,” Søren exaggerated. “You’re not that special.”

A sound like a snarl ripped through Melchior’s throat.

Søren could not contain his smug pleasure upon hearing it. “Oh, so you definitely are jealous,” he smirked.

“Yes,” Melchior grumbled, actually admitting it. “I thought…I was your first. That notion was something that was really special to me.”

Søren blinked. Given his past behaviour, it had not ever occurred to him that Melchior cared and had held such things in esteem.

“…You were not my first kiss,” Søren confessed. “Nor were you the first to arouse me. But you can claim everything else.”

That did not completely satisfy Melchior.

There was nothing that he could do to change that fact. It made Søren smile to know that he sparked that jealous side of him. Though Melchior managed to contain his annoyance, and ask the Trainer to give Angelina some background. To explain what she meant to him.

“She was a nobleman’s daughter. Her father and mine had been rivals of sorts. He didn’t approve of her. But I was naïve, and I fell in love as the years went on. I think that she loved me too, at some point, for a little while. Then she…betrayed my family, after her father’s death. His empire crumbled, and she had resolved to restore it by any means necessary. Even if I was in the way. She had stopped feeling anything real, I think.”

“Do you still love her, in spite of all that?” the blond Reaper asked.

Søren sighed deeply. “It’s complicated. My heart is telling me that I still am, but I don’t want to be. I want to forget her. And my emotions are completely fucked up right now,” he admitted. “I think that part of me…craves emotion that was lost.”

Melchior’s expression turned into one of hurt, before he took a step towards the Trainer. “Søren. It’s okay,” he said softly. Then he smirked. “…I never expected you of all people to have an emotional outburst.”

Søren smiled slightly and feebly swung a punch at Melchior’s chest, before glaring at him. “Asshole,” he grumbled, which earned a chuckle.

The Trainer wiped his face roughly with the sleeve of his jacket, sniffling. Melchior then suddenly ruffled his black hair. Søren stiffened, remembering all of the times he had done it before. He had not cared much for it back then, but now, it hauled up memories he had worked to bury. He then swatted his arm away. “Don’t do that, Melchior,” he warned. “We’re not that cool.”

Melchior did not chuckle spitefully. He did not snort in amusement. He withdrew and respected Søren’s orders. Maybe it was mostly because he was ranked above him, but the Trainer would like to believe it was a small indication that Melchior was becoming a little more human.

“…Do you like her now? Savannah?”

The way he said her name…as if any feelings that Søren might in fact have were her fault. He tried not to react to the question. He clicked his knuckles and stared blankly at the floor. He did not like Savannah —not in that way. But he realised something as he glanced upwards and caught Melchior’s eye. That swirl of red and purple made his chest tighten. Maybe he really was feeling something for someone he really should not.

Shit, shit, shit —I cannot let it happen again, he internally hissed.

“No, I don’t,” Søren clipped aloud.

He sighed and collapsed into his chair, and then swivelled around in it lazily. Melchior folded his arms and leaned against the desk, before they looked up and met each other’s gaze again. The intensity rose.

“What happened to us, Sør?” Melchior murmured.

Søren started so violently that he nearly fell off the chair. Melchior had not called him by that name in nearly a year. It had been his genius idea of retaliation after Søren had called him Mel. Then it had become endearing.

He had hissed it in pleasure against Søren’s flushed skin; and muttered it in the Trainer’s ear when he was in one of his moods.

“You’ve grown,” he then continued. Søren frowned. “No, I mean, you’ve matured since I met you. You’ve risen the ranks and you…you really seem better off. Seriously —I’m proud of you.”

Søren paused, unsure of how to feel or of what to say.

“…Jesus, you sound like a teacher,” he blurted out irritably; stiffening and averting his gaze as he turned to continue to swivel.

“Learn to take a compliment, Søren.”

Søren hung his head. “I don’t think that you get it,” he clipped. “I’m not ready to be…normal around you, Melchior. And you can go ahead and make fun of me all you want for it, but you…hurt me. You would think that after all this time that maybe I would be over it, but I’m not. I’m not any different —any better. So, I guess the time just hasn’t been long enough. Not yet.”

Melchior did not respond, and all Søren heard was the shuffling of feet. He squeezed his eyes shut, frustrated with himself for letting the blond get all of that out of him. “…I know,” Melchior finally said. “And…I’m sorry.”

Søren’s jaw dropped slightly. The two words that he had waited for so long to hear —had Melchior really just said them? It was a goddamn miracle.

“…Wait. What?”

“I said that I’m sorry,” the blond Reaper said more firmly. “I’m sorry for hurting you. It had not been my intention.” He then paused, his brows narrowing further. “You were too fragile, okay?” he grumbled in exasperation. “Yeah, you say that you’re apathetic, but I could see, Sør. You were too innocent and naïve for your own good.”

Søren closed his mouth and his jaw set. Of course, there would be a catch. As if Melchior could say sorry and just leave it at that.

The Trainer glared at him and sat upright. “So maybe I was a little unstable and still trying to figure out who I was —but was that your basis to break up with me? Because as you said, it wasn’t because you didn’t want to ‘be gay’ anymore,” he spat, making quotation marks in the air.

Melchior glanced elsewhere and frowned, before mumbling, “Not really.”

Søren let out a hiss. He realised that he had to stop squirming and being afraid of the other Reaper; afraid of telling him how he really felt.

“Bullshit!” Søren cried, jumping up. Melchior hesitated, confused. “It is,” the Trainer continued. “It is because you couldn’t stand being with such a bipolar, depressed prick any longer, right?” he accused. The blond did not say anything. Did that mean that he agreed with the statement, to a degree?

“…I knew it!” Søren declared, shoving his chest —or at least attempting to. Melchior caught his fists and held them, keeping him from moving away. “I knew it,” Søren repeated in a low whisper, his voice breaking like large fissures in a desert. “…We couldn’t get along from the start.”

Melchior said something then. “That’s not true,” he insisted. “We were great friends. And then I really did fall in love with you. I just…when we…”

“When we what?” Søren scoffed, withdrawing and making him meet his eye. “When we what, Melchior?” he taunted, trying to strike a nerve. He wanted him to say it —to validate what they did. He needed him to say it, so he could stop feeling like the entire instance was a fabrication. “…Why don’t you just say it?” he rasped. “We’ve been avoiding it ever since you left that night and pretending like it never happened. So? What did we —”

“We slept together!” Melchior suddenly raised his voice, cutting the other Reaper off. “We slept together for the first time…and I left you.”

They then stood in silence, staring at each other. Melchior looked into Søren’s narrowed eyes guiltily. His admittance did little to satisfy the Trainer —he was thoroughly disappointed. It was not because it came out this way.

Søren was disappointed in himself for clearly being a problem, yet again. He could not figure out in what way he had messed up though, because he recalled numerous pleasured exclaims, from the both of them. Gods; the touch of his fingers, the sound of his strained breaths, and the heat —

Melchior had told Søren that he loved him, right before it. Perhaps he had he not meant it, then. Not meant it when he had claimed the smaller male for his own, or taken him in his mouth. He had not meant it when they had lain there side by side, content with the mere touch of skin. He had not meant it when Søren had told him too, sincerity in every syllable.

And he had realised only after we had shared that intimacy that maybe the two of us would not work after all, Søren theorised.

It had been risky to let Melchior take his virginity. It was true, then, what was said —the first time will always stay with you. Haunting you.

The memories of it came flooding in a sudden surge for Søren, and he found himself starting to drown in the chaos. His face warmed as he stiffened at the realisation that he was blushing. It intensified as he became self-conscious. He hated looking pathetic in front of Melchior.

“…Shit,” Søren said, finally breaking eye contact and looking down. A heavy feeling swallowed his chest. Melchior slowly let go of his fists and he held his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“What are you sorry for, Sør?” Melchior asked. “You are not the one who dumped someone after having sex with them. I was the jerk —not you.”

“I’m sorry for being such a failure in the first place so that you left,” Søren clarified, looking up again. “…I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

Melchior paused, before a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

“Oh, Søren. When are you going to learn that it’s not always your fault? People are just people —they screw up on their own and the people they care about get affected anyway, no matter what they did or didn’t do.”

“What do you mean?”

“My disguised selfish choice caused you a pain that I dare not try to comprehend or compare to my own.”

Søren narrowed his eyes. “Melchior,” he said slowly. “Are you trying to tell me why you broke up with me?”

The blond sucked on his teeth. “You deserve to know. I made a mistake —not in loving you, but with the sex. I didn’t realise that being so intimate with you would make me snap. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it. I just…things became so real in the moment. More so, actually, when I said that I love you. That’s when it really hit. Look, for a long time, I was thinking of letting you go. Everything you did —and gods, your smile, your laugh —it kept reminding me that I didn’t deserve you. No matter how much I wanted us, I knew that you deserved better. And I was such an ass that I thought breaking things off would be that ‘better’ for us. Better for you.”

Søren ground his teeth together. “You can’t be serious. Melchior, that was not your sole decision to make.”

Melchior’s answer did not actually surprise him. It did nothing to reconcile the tear in his heart. In fact, he did not feel much of anything. It was an answer which he had been waiting for, but it brought no closure. Was Melchior really suggesting that he had just quit while he was ahead?

“I am serious,” insisted the blond Reaper. “And I know —trust me, I know that now. But I meant it, Søren. And you meant everything to me. I just…I couldn’t wait around for me to fuck it up.”

“So, the solution was to fuck it up in advance?” Søren hissed. “Because, honestly, fuck that. You don’t know what could have happened if you had stayed, Melchior. So how dare you insinuate that you were trying to protect my feelings in the long run, or whatever.”

“I’m not giving an excuse for what I did, Søren,” Melchior insisted. “I wish that I could take it back now, but I know that it’s too late. I know now that I’ve already ruined everything. All I can do is offer an apology and hope that you won’t hate me forever.”

“I make no promises,” Søren seethed.

“I get that. But I won’t stop saying that I’m sorry. And please, don’t think it was your fault. None of it was, so stop blaming yourself. You didn’t disappoint me.” He then paused, before smirking slyly. “In fact, making love to you was kind of better than —”

“—You…don’t have to finish the rest of that sentence,” Søren cut in. He did not need the fact rubbed in that the sex he was never going to have again had been great. Melchior smiled, before folding his arms. Søren hesitated, unsure of how to continue the conversation. Then he spoke up, “Why do we end up fighting and shouting at each other almost every time we interact?”

Melchior thought about it for a minute, before shrugging. “I guess it’s just who we are. Our personalities clash. We are not people who usually get along, so there is bound to be friction.”

Søren huffed. “…Sure.”

“Plus, it’s the only way that we ever resolve anything,” he went on.

“Which is kind of sad. Gods, we’re a mess.”

“Ah,” Søren said, “Finally. Something that we can agree on.”

He nodded, before frowning again. “Do you ever…miss me?” he asked.

Søren cringed but tried his best not to give himself away so easily. “Wow —I see that ego is still as big as ever,” he remarked, laughing lightly.

Melchior sighed and looked at him seriously. “I miss you.”

Søren blinked in disbelief.

He…missed him? He wondered for a moment if this was what he wanted: for someone to agonise over him. A sharp pain then seared in his chest, and he bit his lip in defeat. He debated telling Melchior the truth.

“I think it’s okay to miss something that was a part of your past,” he started, trying to avoid directly answering the question. “But dwelling there is problematic. Things happen for a reason, and I guess…ours is maybe that we were supposed to learn from each other —from the experience,” he went on. As he was saying it all, it finally clicked that he needed to hear the same thing. “I…I missed you a whole lot more than you missed me,” he then finally caved into the desire to let it out.

Melchior looked genuinely surprised, which made him tense, but personally it did make Søren feel better. Freer.

“But that part of our relationship —the romantic kind —I think we should probably put it behind us,” the Trainer murmured. It hurt to tell Melchior all of that; things that he wished were true but were just wishful thoughts. But the truth could wait. Telling him that thinking about him still made Søren melt completely —that would complicate everything.

Right then, things between them needed to be simpler. Easy.

And if that meant that Søren could not tell him how he really felt, and that they might never be a couple again —then so be it.

“Maybe…I do want to be friends with you again,” he did offer.

And he meant it.

Melchior was strange —Søren knew that from experience. But what he did next was one of the last things the Trainer had ever expected.

The fearsome blond blushed a deep pink. He tried to cover his face with a hand, but it did not quite work, making Søren laugh. He ended up laughing too; such a genuine laugh that neither had heard in ages.

“Thanks, Sør,” he said when they had sighed and exhausted the humour. “I…hope that I can find reason to call you that again.”

Søren nodded and bit his lip. “Me too, Mel.”

For a moment, there was only a warm silence between them, as though they finally understood. Melchior was not so big and tough —even he had flaws. Søren seemed to have forgotten that when he had held him in such high esteem. Like him, Melchior could grow insecure. He could be vulnerable; he could lose confidence. And perhaps he could fall irrevocably in love.

The door then suddenly unlocked and opened. Savannah’s head popped up on the other side. She grinned as soon as her eyes met Søren’s —before she glanced at Melchior and the grin fell into a small polite smile.

“I heard laughter,” she stated. “Does that mean you no longer want to tear each other’s heads off?”

Melchior and Søren shared a look. The burly Reaper gave a curt nod. Søren smiled and went back over to the computer monitors. “Yeah,” he answered the trainee, lighting up the main screen. “Something like that.”

The soft laughter that ensued was then interrupted by a soldier-like series of knocks on the front door. Savannah and Søren looked at Melchior.

“Don’t look at me,” he defended himself, “—it’s not like I organised a house party and am expecting guests.”

Søren looked at Savannah. He certainly was not expecting anyone. She did not look as though she was either.

The knocking then started again; this time more impatient.

“Okay, okay. I heard you!” Søren called, getting up and walking through the apartment. Phee-Phee jumped and a few embers flew from his panicked flapping wings. Nadine and Lewis looked up from the books in front of them where they were sitting on the sofa, with vague interest. Søren frowned. Nadine’s book was upside down. They had obviously been listening in.

At that thought, he reddened slightly. Although, he should not blame them since there had been shouting.

As he headed for the door he muttered incoherent words under his breath. On the other side of the door stood a man who looked to be in his early thirties. He wore a severe black suit and tie, and his jasper irises glinted eerily. The man smiled warmly at Søren even when the Reaper rudely raised an expectant eyebrow at him.

“Hello there,” he said in a cheerful British accent. He then looked straight at the Phoenix. “What a pretty little bird you’ve got.”

Søren could not tell whether or not he was being sarcastic.

“And you are…?” the Trainer asked sceptically, with one hand on the door handle as though he was ready to slam it shut.

“Why, I am Hades,” he answered, chuckling. Everyone blinked in surprise. Søren suddenly felt bad for wanting to slam a door in the god of the Underworld’s face. Hades then tilted his head to the side and looked at the youngest Grim Reaper, still smiling. “I am here for Savannah, actually.”

“Why?” Melchior asked, narrowing his eyes.

Hades looked at them all as though they were beginning to annoy him. “…I am her father,” he answered like it was simple.

There was a pause as they all turned to look at the Reaper in question. She looked like she was about to pass out. Then she took a step towards the god, reaching out with her hand shakily —before she let out a sound like a strangled cry and suddenly slammed the door in Hades’ face herself.